


Step by Step

by ghostystarr



Series: Much Ado About Miya [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Miya Four, Post-Time Skip, dog dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27379741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostystarr/pseuds/ghostystarr
Summary: Sometimes true love is buying your overdramatic husband a plant and a dog to test if he's ready for fatherhood.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: Much Ado About Miya [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001193
Comments: 69
Kudos: 814
Collections: SakuAtsu Fics for Midterm Procrastination, ~SakuAtsu~





	Step by Step

**Author's Note:**

> I sure didn't expect to write a whole fic today, but that's what we did, folks.

Kiyoomi first notices it at a fan event. He keeps his distance from the crowd, mask fixed around his ears, but does pose for a few pictures for the fans who want them. “Congratulations on your wedding, Miya-san!” one of them shouts before leaving. Kiyoomi waves in response, ring glinting in the camera flashes.

Beside him, Meian grins and nods to their left. “Speaking of which, the other Miya seems to have gotten himself some new cheerleaders.”

Kiyoomi follows Meian’s line of sight until he spots cropped blond hair. Atsumu’s squatting, tongue poking out in concentration as he signs a kid’s volleyball with a purple Sharpie. “There ya go, kiddo!” Atsumu sings when he’s done, arms wide as if to say _ta-da!_ The kid takes it as an open invitation for a hug, and Atsumu’s expression ripples into shock. Slowly, mechanically, his own arms close around the kid’s back and he smiles.

Emotion stirs in Kiyoomi’s chest before he can fully process what he’s looking at. Atsumu isn’t the _Jersey Shore_ reject everyone jokes he is, but he doesn’t exactly go around giving out hugs either. Yet he’s completely at ease with these kids around him, pleading for autographs.

“One at a time!” he laughs, holding up his Sharpie to another kid’s poster of the entire team. Then he turns to a small boy wearing Atsumu’s Olympic jersey. “Well! Look at this handsome devil!” He puts his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe I’m meetin’ a real Olympian!”

“But _you’re_ an Olympian.”

Atsumu taps his own forehead. “Oh, that’s right! Well, eat yer Wheaties and ya’ll be there in no time, too.”

Kiyoomi watches the entire exchange, filing away this new information in whatever part of his brain that decided marrying Miya Atsumu was a good idea. Atsumu has never mentioned kids beyond the many stories about his tumultuous childhood with Osamu. Though, Kiyoomi supposes Atsumu has always been rather unpredictable. Even after all these years, he’s still learning new things about him.

Atsumu gives an exaggerated roar as he poses with the kids for a picture, fingers curled like claws by their cheeks.

And perhaps that unpredictability is partly why Kiyoomi fell in the first place.

The second time Kiyoomi notices, they’re shopping for Christmas presents in Shibuya. Neither of them are particularly good at this sort of thing. They always end up getting practical presents to varying degrees of success. Last year, they’d scored a bargain on roombas and Bokuto cried in happiness when he’d opened his. The year before, Atsumu found a company that tailored personal shampoos and conditioners, and made one for each of their teammates. All the while he claimed that it was actually a selfish gift because some of those guys _stink._ This year is their first as a married couple and they’re already at a loss, circling the same shops so long that their feet ache.

Kiyoomi spots an advertisement for personalized Snuggies and points at it. “That’s terrible,” Atsumu declares and immediately steers them to the counter. “We’re doin’ it.”

After they sort through each of their teammates and pay, Atsumu announces he’s hungry so Kiyoomi redirects them toward an old favorite take-away spot. It’s still pretty early so the streets aren’t as littered with shoppers, but Kiyoomi still tenses at crosswalks, glancing anxiously as people crowd around them. Atsumu fills the time with mindless chatter about Onigiri Miya’s next location finally opening sometime after the new year. The details are lost in Kiyoomi’s memory. He focuses instead on Atsumu’s voice itself. Atsumu is a comforting force in his life he didn’t see coming. Like a third leg he’s learned to run with even though he never needed to.

They’re passing a line of assorted shops when Atsumu falters just long enough for Kiyoomi to notice what’s going on. The display in front of them features two male mannequins. One of them is posed like it’s pushing a stroller with a teddy bear inside. The other holds a baby doll, dressed in a pink dress and a bow stuck to its bald head. A miniature Christmas tree lights up the window, surrounded by various toys and baby supplies. Kiyoomi feels like someone drops an ice cube down his shirt when he takes in Atsumu’s wistful expression.

Atsumu recovers quickly, smirking as he resumes walking down the street. “Well, times’re changin’, huh?” is all he says about it.

The third time Kiyoomi notices, he decides to do something about it.

Bokuto and Akaashi announce their adoption application has been accepted and they officially have a baby on the way. They throw a party shortly after the new year. All their teammates, current and old, squish into their small home. The crowd is a bit daunting, but everyone is respectful of Kiyoomi’s space. Even those less familiar keep their distance. Atsumu’s sharp stare might have helped with that, but Kiyoomi doesn’t really care.

The older he gets, the looser the definition of party seems to become. He never did the college partying thing, but he had his fair share of awful nights while dating. Atsumu, Bokuto, and Hinata are disasters sober, but with alcohol they’re like horsemen of the apocalypse, spreading chaos wherever they step. Parties these days don’t even hold a candle to those nightmares. Just a few beers, talking over barbecue in Bokuto and Akaashi’s backyard, and the occasional failed attempts at nostalgia when someone breaks out the hard liquor.

Bokuto shows anyone within a three-foot radius some ultrasound photos. He once ropes an arm around Kenma’s shoulders and presses an overjoyed kiss to his cheek, making Kenma grimace and squirm out of his reach. “Akaashi,” Kenma hisses, “is this your man?”

“Sorry, Kenma,” Akaashi laughs, wine-flushed and happy. “He’s been extra affectionate ever since we found out.”

Bokuto grabs Atsumu next, laying his head on his shoulder and lamenting about how cute his unborn baby is. “I know she’s just a little lump,” he cries, “but I can’t believe she’s real!”

Atsumu plucks the photo out of his hand and gives an appraising hum. “Ya know what, I think I can see a resemblance.”

“Huh? Really?”

“Uh-huh. See how big that head is? That’s gotta be yer kid.”

“Tsumu!”

Atsumu laughs, patting Bokuto on the shoulder and holding the photo to the light. For just a second, Atsumu’s face softens to a degree Kiyoomi’s never quite seen before. Hinata runs up to take another look, and it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the smirk he always wears.

Kiyoomi knows, as he takes his place next to Atsumu on the couch, that the conversation will happen one day. Even though neither of them have ever mentioned it before, Kiyoomi knows Atsumu wants kids.

Another good thing about grown-up parties is that they’re usually over by eight or nine. Atsumu automatically begins their routine; switching on the coffeemaker and tidying up while Kiyoomi showers first and is left alone with his thoughts.

The thing is Kiyoomi has no idea if they’re ready. Babies are a lot of money, patience, and time. Money isn’t an issue. Atsumu might be an asshole most of the time, but his charm has landed him some pretty good sponsorships over the years, and Kiyoomi’s not exactly unpopular either. Patience is a trickier one. Atsumu becomes a monster when he doesn’t sleep enough, and Kiyoomi still has a hard time changing the garbage let alone a diaper. But, time is the real problem. They’re still both regularly playing volleyball, traveling across the world often and devoting long hours to practice. There’s no room in their schedules for a baby.

He thinks of Atsumu’s face, bright and considerate, as he looked at the shop display in Shibuya. There has to be something he can do. Something to send a message without actually _saying_ it.

Kiyoomi, against his better judgment, asks Bokuto about it during practice one day. “How did Akaashi and you know you were ready for a baby?”

Bokuto doesn’t miss a beat. “We talked about it!”

Kiyoomi grimaces. He’d rather do literally anything else. “And then you just… knew?”

Bokuto shrugs. “I mean, it’s still kinda scary. But Akaashi is smart and I’m real good at hugging so we figure that, between the two of us, it’ll work out.”

Kiyoomi nods. If Bokuto can figure it out then surely Atsumu and he can. Just a few years ago, he wouldn’t even consider letting a drooling, screaming child into his home, but then he married Miya Atsumu (which was essentially the same thing) and realized it wasn’t as scary as it sounded.

“We should probably start with something lower risk,” Kiyoomi mutters aloud and Bokuto tilts his head to one side in confusion. “Like a fish. No, too big. A plant?”

Bokuto blinks. “Wait, are you and Tsumu thinking about having a baby, too?” Kiyoomi jumps. “OMI!” he roars. There are stars shimmering in Bokuto’s eyes, and Kiyoomi can tell he’s physically restraining himself from embracing him. He takes a safety step backwards. “That would be so cool! We could have playdates! Oh my god. We’d be like brothers.”

Kiyoomi blanches. “Don’t you dare say another word.”

Bokuto bites his lower lip until he’s red in the face. Kiyoomi groans but jumps back onto the court before Bokuto can pass out.

After practice, Atsumu demands food so Kiyoomi takes him out. As Atsumu ravenously attacks his pork ramen, Kiyoomi searches on Google: **plants for dumbasses**

He chooses his next day off to send them both off for errands separately. Atsumu pouts. “Why can’t we go together, Omi?”

“I don’t want to use the railway,” he says, and it’s not a lie. Public transport is rough on him. Something about transient spaces makes his brain short circuit, but thankfully Atsumu has never pushed the issue. “I’ll handle the stuff in walking distance.”

Atsumu hums. “Fine.” He lifts his chin. “But it’ll cost ya one kiss.”

“Cheap,” Kiyoomi teases but leans down and kisses him anyways. Then he hands Atsumu an umbrella. “Be safe.”

“Don’t miss me too much,” he says and then he’s off.

Kiyoomi’s already planned it down to the minute. He’s in and out of the bank in fifteen, across the block in four, and walking out of the plant store in twenty. The rain begins just as he’s walking up their street. By the time he enters their apartment, it’s turned into a full downpour. Kiyoomi carefully places the terracotta pot on the coffee table and then grabs a book and tries to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible.

Atsumu comes home sopping wet and scowling. “My fuckin’ umbrella broke!” he yells, raising a destroyed black umbrella over his head. Its spokes are sticking up the wrong way, the fabric ripped, but most concerning is that the handle seems to be partly missing. “The wind pushed it back and I couldn’t fix it! Right in front of Starbucks! All these people were watchin’ me, laughin’ behind their hands and drinkin’ their shitty coffee. Not one of ‘em came to help!” he rants and sticks the umbrella into the garbage can. “Got so mad I started hittin’ it on the sidewalk until the damn handle snapped.”

Kiyoomi hums, squinting at the growing puddle of water Atsumu drips all over the floor.

“Anyways,” Atsumu runs a hand through his hair, “we gotta move as soon as possible. I can’t ever walk down that street again.” Before Kiyoomi can open his mouth to complain, Atsumu raises a hand to stop him. “I know! I’ll mop up after I dry off, okay?”

Kiyoomi smiles. “I bought new Swiffer pads. They’re under the sink.”

Atsumu grunts in acknowledgment, toeing off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket. As he’s heading to the bathroom, he stops short and glares at the coffee table. “What the fuck is that?”

“What?” Kiyoomi asks innocently.

Atsumu points. _“That._ On my grandmother’s table.”

“A succulent.”

“A suck my what?”

“The plant, asshole,” Kiyoomi deadpans. “It’s a type of succulent.” At Atsumu’s unchanging blank stare, he sighs and adds, “Atsumu, it’s aloe vera.”

“Like the lotion?” Atsumu wrinkles his nose and bends down to get a better look. “It’s kinda weird lookin, ain’t it?” He pokes at the thick leaves. “Where’d it come from?”

“I bought it.”

“You did?”

“Is there a problem with my succulent?”

Atsumu winks. “Baby, there’s never been any problems with yer succulent.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “Divorced.”

Atsumu laughs, snapping his fingers. “Damn. And here I thought I’d finally gone an entire day without gettin’ divorced.” He heads for the bathroom. “Alright, I’m gettin’ a shower. If my ex-husband decides to show up, I could always use a hand reaching my back.”

“I’ll pass him the message.”

Atsumu’s laugh echoes in the small space of their bathroom before the door shuts. The shower turns on a few minutes later, leaving Kiyoomi to his own thoughts. He twists his wedding ring and tries to ignore the puddles on his floor. He makes it two minutes before he’s pulling the Swiffer out of the closet. It’s more of a habit than an actual need, and Kiyoomi actually finds that he’s relaxed as he mops and listens to Atsumu humming his own tune _._

When Atsumu comes back out in an old Inarizaki sweatshirt, Kiyoomi’s already settled back on the couch. He raises an eyebrow. “So, s’that divorce still on?”

Wordlessly, Kiyoomi lifts his arms. Atsumu snorts as he climbs onto the couch and falls into them.

They spend their evening like that. Kiyoomi watches the Adlers’ game on TV, keeping an eye on Ushijima’s form. It’s still perfect, even as they approach the later years of their careers. Atsumu watches until it’s obvious the Adlers are going to win. He rests his head in Kiyoomi’s lap and gets lost in his phone. Every once in a while, Kiyoomi hears Atsumu’s wedding ring click against his plastic phone case. During a commercial break, Atsumu asks, “Did’ja know there’re over five hundred types of succulents?”

Kiyoomi’s gaze flickers down to him. “What?”

Atsumu grins up at him and holds out his phone. “Some of them can grow pretty big. Look.”

“I thought you said it looked weird.” Kiyoomi squints at the screen.

“It does,” Atsumu agrees. “I like weird, though.” His tone turns dangerous. “I mean, look who I married.”

Kiyoomi shoves a throw pillow into his face.

The weirdest part is that the plant works. Despite continuously calling it ugly, Atsumu takes care of it for the next two weeks. He waters it properly, moves it around the apartment until it finds the right balance of light, and even takes to measuring its stalks as it grows. He posts frequent updates to his Twitter, and promptly deletes any replies from Osamu. “He called him _ugly.”_

Kiyoomi frowns. “You call it ugly every day.”

Atsumu huffs. “Doesn’t mean Samu can say it.” Then an evil grin appears on his face. “I’m gonna name it after Sunarin to spite him.”

“You know, one day he’s going to snap and I can’t stop him.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “Who’s to say?”

Then, as Kiyoomi is trying to enjoy a late morning asleep, he hears Atsumu call, “Omi! Something’s wrong with Tarou!”

Kiyoomi groans into the pillow. Nonetheless, he pushes himself up and pads down the hallway with the blanket drawn around his shoulders. Atsumu is standing at the window, hands on his hips as he observes the aloe vera. True to his word, Atsumu snidely christened the plant ‘Tarou’ in dishonor of his brother-in-law. Pissing off Osamu is the only other sport Atsumu is interested in. “What’s wrong?” Kiyoomi asks, startled when Atsumu whips around with a big pout.

“I think he’s dyin’,” he laments. “I can’t look anymore.” He moves away so Kiyoomi peers at the pot. Sure enough, the chubby leaves have turned brown and droopy.

“You’re overwatering it,” he says plainly.

“Huh?” Atsumu marches back, poking the dirt in various spots. “But I followed what that dumb gardening site said to do.”

“What does it say about overwatering?”

Atsumu grumbles under his breath as he pulls out his phone and types quickly. "A wilting, brown aloe that has soft spots in the leaves is likely over watered,” he reads. “Oh, shit, it was _me.”_

Kiyoomi pats his shoulder. “Keep reading. What does it say to do about it?”

“Uh, let’s see… Repot the plant in a well-draining soil… Check the roots for any rot and remove… Water only when the soil is dry to the touch when you insert a finger to the second knuckle.” A determined look overtakes Atsumu’s pout and, in a flash, he reaches for his coat and hat. “I’ll run to that shop down the block,” he says. “Stay with him.”

Kiyoomi watches, half-amused and half-annoyed as Atsumu fumbles with his shoes and runs out the door. As the apartment falls silent, he smiles. “You have a good dad,” he says to Tarou and feels ridiculous.

After another few weeks of Atsumu paying extra attention to Tarou, it returns to its natural green. In fact, it looks healthier and bigger than ever. Atsumu proudly documents its recovery on social media. Kiyoomi doesn’t understand how he has such a big following, but Tarou the plant seems to appeal to some of their more dedicated fans. Still, he admits that Atsumu passed his first test. Something takes root in Kiyoomi’s chest, a warmth that doesn’t disappear even when Atsumu shows photos to Hinata and Bokuto at practice. “Guess what? Tarou’s getting a little sister on Saturday! Omi’s taking me to the garden center.”

Kiyoomi thinks that perhaps he’s created a monster, but that doesn’t stop him from starting part two of his plan.

Sometimes, Atsumu and Rintarou go out on their own. Kiyoomi and Osamu don’t really know why, nor do they ask, but they imagine it’s probably to complain about them over Chipotle. It makes sense, seeing as they were friends long before Osamu and Rintarou ever got together. So the next time they have their outing, Kiyoomi uses it to his advantage and invites Osamu over for beers and for advice.

“A dog?” Osamu blinks incredulously when Kiyoomi asks. “Ya wanna get Tsumu a dog? Are ya sure that's okay?”

Kiyoomi nods. “Don’t worry. I’ve already checked our lease. It’s allowed.”

“That wasn’t really what I meant.” Osamu sits back, arms crossed and looking at Kiyoomi like he’s just sprouted another head. “I mean, aren’t they… uh, kinda messy?”

“Actually,” Kiyoomi interjects, “they’re pretty hygienic. They only sweat from their toe beans and noses. They’re easily trained so other messes would be minimal. We go on morning runs daily so he’d get plenty of exercise.” It’s still not going to be easy, for either of them, but Kiyoomi figures this is the closest thing they can get to parenting without actually having a human kid. “I just don’t know what kind of dog to get. You’re his twin. What dog does he want?”

Osamu scoffs, holding out his beer incredulously. “I can’t just, like, read his mind or something.”

“Your best guess, then.”

“Jeez,” he mutters and takes a moment to think. “I dunno. Something small, maybe?” He rubs the back of his neck. “We can check out the local shelters, I guess. That’s probably the best place to look.”

“Good idea.” Kiyoomi stands up and pulls his mask out of his pocket. “I’ll pull up the directions on Google.”

Osamu blinks around at the living room as if suddenly lost. “What? Now?”

“Sure.” Kiyoomi grabs his keys. “It’s flu season, but I have a mask you can use. If you want.”

“Uh.” Osamu stands, placing his drink on a coaster and giving him a confused smile. “Okay.”

Kiyoomi recognizes his mistake the minute they arrive at the shelter. The volunteers greet them warmly and then lead them to a room with at least a dozen dogs in spacious, separate runs. Osamu moves to the first dog and extends his hand through the bars. “Hey, buddy,” he greets as the dog licks his palm. “What’s yer name, huh? Hey, Omi, what about this one?” When he receives no reply, Osamu turns. “Kiyoomi?” He stands up and holds up a hand as if ready to steady Kiyoomi. “Is this too much? We can leave.”

Kiyoomi clenches his fists and takes in a deep breath. “I want to adopt them _all.”_

Osamu lets out a surprised laugh.

They spend a long while meeting each other the dogs available for adoption. Kiyoomi has a hard time deciding, wishing he’d just brought Atsumu along to be the tie-breaker, but when he pauses outside of one kennel he notices a little ball of fur sleeping in a pile of fleece blankets. He squats down and gives a soft whistle. His ears perk up and slowly raises his head, revealing a cute face.

Osamu reads the name plate. “Kenji.” The dog begins wagging his tail and his tongue flops out in a way that fondly reminds him of Atsumu. “He’s a Japanese Chin. It says he’s blind in one eye, but very excitable and loves peanut butter.”

Kiyoomi sticks his hands in his pockets and stands back up. “When can he go home?” he asks the volunteer, who smiles and raises a clipboard.

Osamu and Kiyoomi are back to lounging on the couch with beers in hand when Atsumu and Rintarou return. Rintarou holds a bag from Chipotle over Osamu’s head and hisses, “One everything burrito for my _dear_ husband, who said the Black Jackals were going to win out the season.”

“What?” is all Osamu gets out before Rintarou drops the bag on his head. Osamu catches it quickly and holds the bag protectively to his chest. He glares at Atsumu, who looks very pleased. “I only said that because ya were depressed about flubbin’ a game, yanno.”

“Still said it.” Atsumu smiles sweetly then hands a bag over to Kiyoomi. “Here ya go.” Then he plops into the armchair and asks, “So, what did'ja two get up to today?”

Osamu glares at Kiyoomi, as if it’s _his_ fault that Atsumu gossips, but he reels it in enough to say, “Watched some old games. That’s about it.” Then promptly looks ready to murder when Atsumu teases him for being a nostalgic old man.

Kiyoomi makes a mental note to buy Osamu something nice.

.

When Kenji's adoption is cleared and finalized, Kiyoomi gives Atsumu a half-assed excuse as to why he needs to leave the apartment by himself. Atsumu, utterly exhausted from practice, lets him go without complaint. In fact, he’s still asleep by the time Kiyoomi gets back, carrying a newly purchased dog carrier with one fluffy pup gnawing at the bars excitedly. “Atsumu,” he calls. “Hey, Miya!”

There’s a grumpy grunt from the bedroom. “What?” he yells back.

“Come here.”

“No.”

“I got something for you.”

A pause. “What is it?”

“A surprise.”

Another pause. Then the bedroom door opens and Atsumu emerges, hair askew and blinking sleepily. “What kinda surprise?” he asks suspiciously then freezes at the pet carrier. “What’s that?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t reply. He just opens the door and Kenji bursts free like a firecracker, nails clacking against the floor as he makes a beeline for Atsumu, who _screams._ “OMI!” He drops down immediately, petting Kenji with an utterly bewildered expression. He looks back up. “This is a dog!”

“It is.”

“Why d’ya have a dog?” Atsumu breaks away to coo at Kenji as he rolls onto his back and begs for belly rubs, which Atsumu happily supplies. “Whose is it?”

“Ours.”

“Miya Kiyoomi,” he laughs, trying and failing to sound upset, “ya better not be fuckin’ with me right now. I’ve _always_ wanted a little doggo, and,” he turns to Kenji, baby-talking, “yer so cute! _Yes, ya are!”_

“I’m not joking,” Kiyoomi assures him, coming over to pat Kenji’s head. “I like dogs. I’ve always been able to handle them better than other animals.”

“Still,” Atsumu says, “why now?”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “He needed a home.”

“Omi,” he whines, then reaches up to ruffle Kiyoomi’s hair, “yer so cute. _Yes, ya are!”_

“Okay, stop.” Kiyoomi shrugs out of Atsumu’s reach, but he’s smiling. “His name’s Kenji, and he’s blind in his right eye. Apparently, he also loves peanut butter.”

“Oh, well,” Atsumu picks up Kenji and beams, “that’s something we have in common, Kenji-kun. _Yes, we do.”_

“Are you always going to talk like that to him?”

_“Yes, I am!”_

Later, Osamu and Rintarou bring over the rest of the supplies Kiyoomi had hid at their place. Toys, a bed, bowls, food, everything Kenji will ever need is now strewn across their living room floor as Atsumu rifles through the bags like a kid tearing through birthday presents. “Holy shit, it’s a volleyball,” he exclaims as he holds up one of the toys. “That’s so cool. Bet Kenji’s a setter.”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “What makes ya think that?”

“Uh, because he obviously takes after me. Look how cute he is!”

“Yeah,” Rintarou adds, “and he’s slobbering over Kiyoomi’s leg and can’t keep his mouth shut. Definitely takes after you.”

Osamu laughs. Kiyoomi winces at the wet spot on his leg, but still doesn’t have the heart to move Kenji off of his lap. It’s the calmest he’s been since arriving home, happily munching on a milkbone Rintarou gave him, and Kiyoomi is kind of enjoying the respite.

“Ah!” Atsumu holds another toy over his head. “This one’s a fox! Look, Samu, it looks like Kita-san!”

“Oh my God,” Osamu mutters. “It kinda does.”

Fatherhood is hard, Kiyoomi realizes very quickly. Kenji is a good dog, who adjusts to their schedules quickly. The first night is definitely the hardest as, since Kenji isn’t house trained yet, they keep him in a kennel overnight. The first cry has Atsumu clutching his chest. Kiyoomi lasts a few more hours until finally the guilt runs too deep and he rises out of bed in one fluid motion. “Kenji,” he grumbles, still groggy, “please, be quiet.”

Kenji gives a hopeful pat on the bars, watching Kiyoomi with huge, pleading eyes.

They watch each other, unmoving, for several long moments.

When Kiyoomi returns to bed, he tries to be as discreet as possible with Kenji tucked under his arm. However, Kenji scrambles out of his arms and piles onto Atsumu, licking his cheek and wagging his tail so hard his entire little body wiggles with it. “What the fuck?” Atsumu croaks. “Omi, we have a _dog.”_

Kiyoomi snorts.

“Ya sure it’s okay for him to be in here?”

“Just for tonight,” he says, smiling as Atsumu turns to face him. Kenji continues his attack on Atsumu’s arm until receiving the attention he demands.

“Just for tonight,” Atsumu agrees with a wink, patting his head.

Kenji sleeps in their bed every night after that.

There are times where it pushes Kiyoomi to his limits. Accidents happen, and Kiyoomi really likes to think he’s learned how to handle things like this better. If he was in high school and entered the kitchen to see a pile of half-digested food on his floor, he would’ve tried to blow up the entire house. But he’s come far. It’s amazing what a healthy support system can do for one’s confidence. And, this is just as much of a test for him as it is Atsumu so he deals with it. He practically bleaches the stain right out of the wood flooring, but it still gets done.

“Never give Kenji turkey again,” he hisses at Atsumu when he comes home. “He has his own food for a reason.”

Atsumu points at Kenji. “Tell _him_ that!”

Kiyoomi crouches down to frown at Kenji. “No turkey or you’re becoming an outside-only dog.”

“Mean, Omi!” Atsumu shouts, swooping down to lift Kenji into his arms. “Too mean!”

As time goes by, Kiyoomi and Atsumu adjust to the addition to their household. Kenji loves his morning runs, though his little legs get tired and they often have to carry him back. It happens often enough that Atsumu orders a pet stroller online. “What the hell?” Kiyoomi asks when he sees the box.

“It got good reviews,” he replies as if that answers everything.

Kiyoomi gets figured out soon after. Rintarou is back for a week and so they have an obligatory family dinner at their place. Osamu cooks, Atsumu helps, and Rintarou parks himself on the floor to dance a stuffed hotdog in front of an uninterested Kenji. Kiyoomi sits nearby. “He likes the donut one."

Rintarou snickers. “God, Atsumu and you are such dads now.” Kiyoomi doesn’t reply. Somehow, Rintarou seems to read into the silence anyways and squints up at him. “What’s that look for?”

Kiyoomi glares. “What look?”

“You’re hiding something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rintarou smiles. It’s the same expression he has when he shuts down one of Kiyoomi’s spikes. Before he can say anything else, Osamu calls them over for dinner. Kiyoomi feels watched the entire time. Rintarou’s gaze is so sharp that Kiyoomi wouldn’t be surprised if it cut his pork for him. Kiyoomi glares back, a silent warning to his conniving brother-in-law to _keep his mouth shut._

“Ya’ve got yer thinkin’ face on,” Atsumu proclaims with his mouth full and points his fork at him. “What’s up?”

“Yeah, Kiyoomi,” Rintarou poses innocently, “what’s up?”

After dinner, Kiyoomi elects to wash the dishes. “Ah,” Rintarou lifts his plate, “I’ll help.”

It’s terribly awkward. Rintarou scrubs and Kiyoomi dries, stacking the plates back into the cupboard. Rintarou minds his time and Kiyoomi surrenders way too easily and mutters, “Just ask.”

Rintarou glances at him then back to the sink. “Why’d you adopt the dog?” He continues on before he can expect an answer. “I mean, it happened pretty soon after Bokuto and Akaashi adopted a kid. Any time Atsumu uses that stupid stroller you get all soft. It’s kind of unsettling.”

“Have Osamu and you ever talked about adopting kids?”

Rintarou smiles. It’s not as jagged as usual, softened into something genuine. “A bit. We both like the idea, but just not yet.”

Kiyoomi nods. “Don’t tell Osamu. He can't keep a secret to save his life.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had this much power. Sure. But remember me when you’re picking out godfathers.”

.

The conversation happens a few weeks later. The catalyst is Atsumu bursting through the door with stars in his eyes and a flyer in hand. “Omi-Omi! Did’ja know they have Pilates classes for ya and yer _dog?”_

Kiyoomi is immediately out, but Atsumu signs Kenji and himself up anyway. He even buys them matching Adidas shirts for the occasion. Kiyoomi finds him with Kenji cradled in the crook of his arm, lining up a good angle for a selfie in their outfits, and Kiyoomi wonders if he was worried about nothing.

“Well,” he says, “I think we’re ready to talk about adopting a human baby.”

Atsumu freezes where he stands, and Kiyoomi processes what he just let slip. Slowly, Atsumu turns like a deer in the headlights. “Uh. What?”

Kiyoomi promptly throws up his hood and attempts to blend into the wall behind him.

Atsumu hurries forward. Kenji’s tail wags faster the closer they get. “Wait, wait, wait!” he exclaims, waving his free hand. “I was just surprised! Come out. Hey. Kiyoomi.” He peeks out from under his hood. Atsumu smiles. “Ya wanna run that by me again?”

Kiyoomi huffs. “It’s just… something I’ve noticed. You’re good with kids. You like them. So I just wanted to see… You know.”

Surprise flickers through Atsumu’s expression. He looks down at Kenji, who pokes his tongue out. “Ya mean,” he whispers, “this was a set up? Wait. Holy shit. Are ya for real?"

“It was more like a test run. It wasn’t serious. I just wanted to feel out what it'd be like.”

Atsumu blinks rapidly. “Like, with a… a real kid? Me? A _dad?”_

“Atsumu.”

“Wow. Would’ja look at the time?”

“Don’t freak out,” he pleads.

“I’m not freaking out. Yer freaking out.”

_“Atsumu.”_

Kenji barks excitedly as Atsumu clicks his harness into the stroller. He bends down to adjust the straps accordingly, getting more and more worked up the longer he fumbles with the buckles. “What the fuck makes you think I’m ready to be a _father,_ Omi?!” he demands as he double-checks Kenji’s collar and tags. “This is crazy. Kenji and I have to get to Paw-lates, but when I come back we are talking about how _bad_ of an idea this is!” Kiyoomi just watches in disbelief as Atsumu gives Kenji a small pat and then promptly pushes the stroller out the door. "Don't forget to water Tarou!" he shouts before slamming it shut behind him.

The next hour is especially agonizing. The more Kiyoomi thinks about it, the more he slips into doubt. It’s not like he wants a child right _now._ They’re in the height of their careers. He just wants to know if _possibly,_ one day, they'd want that. Even if it’s hard, he still thinks it might be something he could work up to.

 _Maybe,_ he muses to himself, _we can work up to it together._

Kiyoomi receives exactly two Snapchats from Atsumu, capturing Kenji looking quite smug as he stands on small balance ball and another with Atsumu sticking his tongue out to match Kenji. Their hair both sticks up by their ears. Kiyoomi stares at it for much longer than he cares to admit, reveling in the fact that he's spent so much time fretting over a future family that he didn't even realize they already had one. Atsumu, Kenji, Osamu, Suna, Komori, and even Tarou. That's his _family._

“We’re home,” Atsumu announces forty-five minutes later, but his tone is subdued, anxious.

“How was pilates?”

“Fun. But I think Kenji needs a refresher on his obedience class. He just chewed at his shirt the whole time.”

“It’s ridiculous you even dressed him up at all. You better wash that later.”

“No need. He’s torn it to shreds.” Atsumu sets Kenji on the floor. “Go get Omi,” he ushers. "Go, go!"

Kenji jumps on Kiyoomi a second later. Kiyoomi scratches the spot behind his ears that, without fail, makes him fall limp onto his lap. Atsumu sits beside them, fidgety. He smells like peanut butter. Kenji definitely got too many 'incentive' treats at pilates. “So,” Atsumu starts and crosses his legs, aiming for casual and just looking tense.

“So," Kiyoomi echoes.

Atsumu groans, running a hand through his hair. “Why’s it so hard to talk about this?! Feelings are so dumb.”

“If it helps,” he says, “I didn’t mean now.”

Atsumu hums. “Yeah. I know.” He leans back. “But I did some serious soul-searching during Paw-lates and, well, I... Ya really think we can do it?”

“If we wanted, I think we could do anything.”

There’s a long pause. “That’s the nicest thing I think ya’ve ever said to me.” 

“Ew.”

Atsumu laughs and reaches over to ruffle Kenji’s fur. “I like what we’ve got now. Yer already a great dad so, when it happens, we’ll do fine.”

_"When?"_

Atsumu's other hand rests on Kiyoomi's shoulder. "Yeah. We'll take it step by step. Deal?"

Kiyoomi relaxes. "Deal." Atsumu leans in for a kiss, and Kiyoomi goes to meet him then pulls away. "Oh, but you should know that I already promised Rintarou he'd be godfather."

"Divorced."

Kiyoomi laughs, the sound bubbling out freely until Atsumu cups his cheek and seals the deal with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea on the back-burner for a while now but uhh the new LN conversation between Iizuna and Sakusa about dogs made me finish it so fast. Thanks, Furudate.
> 
> Also, in case anyone wanted to see what I imagined Kenji to look like: [here ya go](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6a/Japanese_Chin.jpg/1200px-Japanese_Chin.jpg)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ghostystarr)


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